Girl In The Shadows
by Satori
Summary: Harry Potter is in his fifth year at Hogwarts and a new student transfers. Strangely transfixed by her, yet unable to tell her anything, Harry watches, helpless, as the girl he loves is destroyed from both within and without.
1. A New Arrival

((Author's note: Hiya! I'm back again with another bad fic. But read it and tell me whether you like it or not anyway. Feel free to lie, that always makes me happy ^ ^ No just kidding. Um.since HTML doesn't seem to like me at the moment, //*blank blank*// means thoughts. Read on. ^_^))  
  
Harry awoke that morning with an unusual sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. That early in the morning, he put it down to hunger and quickly got up and pulled on his robes and uniform. As usual, he was the only one awake in his dormitory; that was the way he liked it. The problem was, he always had a few hours to kill before breakfast. So, with a last once-over to check that everything was relatively neat around his bed, Harry exited the chamber and descended the steps to the common room.  
  
Everything was quiet as he seated himself in an over-stuffed chair before the unlit fire. Pulling out the book that he'd grabbed on his way out of his room, Harry opened it and began to read.  
  
Unfortunately, after about a page, he found that the book had no power to hold him while the feeling of apprehension haunted the back of his mind. Closing the book decisively, Harry stood and decided to wander the castle for a while. Leaving the book on the table, Harry rushed upstairs to take his Invisibility Cloak then came downstairs again, pushed the painting that concealed the entrance to Gryffindor House aside and left the common room.  
  
Outside, everything was silent as well and Harry smiled to himself, //It's so nice to be free to wander around with the cloak and without people running into you constantly// he decided, and headed for the Entrance Hall- which was conveniently placed near the Dining Hall-to see which paintings had moved during the night.  
  
A few feet from the archway that lead into his destination, voices alerted Harry to the presence of others awake. He stopped and moved against the wall, inching forward to hear better,  
  
"Really, Argus, isn't it a little early for the students to be pulling pranks? It's Saturday morning anyway, they're all asleep!" Professor McGonagall's tired voice could be distinguished anywhere.  
  
"Very sorry Professor, this time 't ain't the children. Or least I 'ope it ain't." Filch, the caretaker explained, his voice tinged with worry.  
  
"Whatever do you mean Argus? Has something happened?" Professor McGonagall's voice rose slightly in alarm.  
  
"I'll show ye, if you'll come with me, Professor." Their voices faded away as Filch guided the bewildered Professor down the hallway, which led to the hospital wing.  
  
Intrigued and a little alarmed, Harry decided to follow; glad he'd remembered the Invisibility Cloak this time. Silent and invisible as a shadow, Harry followed Professor McGonagall and Filch to the hospital wing, where they met with Madam Pomfrey and had a quick, whispered discussion outside the curtain drawn around one of the hospital beds. All Harry could catch were quiet exclamations about the state of the "poor girl."  
  
Finally, Madam Pomfrey drew back the curtain so they could see the girl, and Harry drew closer. He barely concealed his gasp of shock as he saw the battered, bruised, and broken body on the bed. Harry stared into her milk- pale face, framed by black hair that flowed like water, and felt something jerk inside him. He felt a sudden anger at whoever had done this to the poor girl, who looked so fragile just lying there. Harry reached his hand out and tentatively brushed her cheek with his fingertips, feeling the smooth skin beneath his fingers, but always careful, as if too much pressure would break her porcelain doll face.  
  
Remembering where he was, Harry quickly withdrew his hand and turned to look at the adults behind him, who were looking at the girl with a pitying horror, he realized that he had not been seen. Relieved, Harry quickly left the room and returned to his dormitory, pulling off the Cloak and stowing it away under his bed. Harry returned to the common room to wait for his friends to wake up and for the day to start.  
  
===============================================================  
  
Harry went through the day in a strange sort of daze, only listening half- heartedly as Hermione complained about the lack of literature necessary for her research in the Hogwarts library, and as Ron explained to him about the newest broom model. If his friends noticed his preoccupation, they didn't mention it, and evening came soon enough.  
  
At dinner, rumors were flying around the large room about the girl in the hospital wing,  
  
"Know what I think? I think she's a girl they found in the Forbidden Forest an' she was probably attacked by centaurs or something!" Seamus Finnigan announced, and his idea was greeted by loud support.  
  
"Yeah? Well I bet she's a spy from Durmstrang or Beauxbaton!" exclaimed Dean Thomas, but this suggestion was booed with cries of "Shut it Thomas!" and bread rolls thrown in his direction. A few even hit, as was evident from the yelps on that side of the table. Everyone laughed, it was all in good fun after all, even Dean.  
  
Harry himself was surprised that rumor had spread so quickly, but then again, this was Hogwarts, and everyone knew everything that happened some way or another. He took no part in the discussion, as did Hermione, but Ron was busy discussing the possibility of a spy excitedly and heatedly with Dean Thomas.  
  
Harry excused himself early, he wanted to go check on the girl, and Hermione watched him go with a look of slight puzzlement, as if she knew something was going on, but judged it not to be the time to ask. Yet, it seemed as if she was going to call him back, and might have, if Ron hadn't elbowed her on accident, diverting her attention to him and starting another of their infamous arguments. Relieved, Harry disappeared down the corridor quickly, and as soon as he was out of sight, he ran for it.  
  
By the time he reached the hospital wing, Harry was definitely out of breath, but he quickly softened his breathing so as not to disturb the still sleeping girl. Madam Pomfrey had cleaned her up and healed most of the welts, cuts, and scrapes, but Harry could tell that there would always be some scars, on her arms and legs especially. She stirred slightly and Harry realized that she could wake at any moment. He moved a ways from the bed, reluctant to go, yet not wanting to wake her. Finally, after lingering for a few more minutes, watching her beautiful and peaceful sleep, he left to let the girl sleep. 


	2. A Not So Chancy Meeting

The next morning, Harry came again to the hospital wing to see the mysterious girl. Just as he reached the bed, Madam Pomfrey emerged from behind the curtain and stopped him, hands on hips,  
  
"Good morning Mr. Potter. Just where do you think you are going?"  
  
"Oh, good morning Madam Pomfrey. I just...I wanted to know if I could visit the girl in there," he pointed behind the mediwitch, "I heard she was really hurt, I wanted to just." he shrugged. The truth was, he didn't really know why he kept coming back to the girl. He felt like he just had to see her again. It didn't make sense at all, he knew, but maybe he could help her get better, if she knew someone was waiting her on this side of consciousness. Somehow.  
  
"Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey's voice called him back to the present, "You were saying?" She was looking at him with a curious speculation.  
  
"Oh, yeah. I was wondering if I could visit the girl, Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
"Her name is Rhiannon, Mr. Potter, and you may see her, although," she put up a hand to obviate his thanks, "although it is unlikely that she will wake."  
  
"Thank you Madam Pomfrey!" Harry exclaimed and she moved aside, smiling, to let him past. Harry pulled back the curtain, slipped in, and closed it again, all the time watching Rhiannon for signs of movement. There were none. He sat down on a stool near her bed and watched her for a while, drinking in the way the sunlight from the windows far above them drifted lazily on her face, making her hair seem to glow about her like a halo, and how her too-pale skin looked almost healthy again.  
  
Harry wasn't sure how long he sat there, just staring at the sleeping girl. Finally, he roused himself and stood to leave, then glanced at her one last time. Harry blinked. Surely not! Rhiannon's eyes were open and she was watching him with unveiled curiosity. For a moment, Harry simply let himself gaze into her eyes, marveling at their clear ice-blue color, and then he forced himself to concentrate on coming up with an excuse for intruding upon her space.  
  
"I.I'm sorry for bothering you, Rhiannon. I just.I just." while Harry's mind raced for an explanation, the girl simply stared at him,  
  
"H-how do you know my name?" she inquired. It would have been a demand, but her voice was too quiet that focus of negative emotion. The fear in her face was only too painfully obvious to Harry, and he winced at the realization that he had caused it.  
  
"Um.Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, told me," Harry responded quickly.  
  
"Oh." Rhiannon pondered this for a moment, and some of the fear slowly drained from her face, "Where am I?"  
  
"Y-you don't know?" Harry was surprised, how could anyone not recognize Hogwarts? Rhiannon shook her head and Harry sat again with a sigh, "You're at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,"  
  
Rhiannon's eyes widened in recognition, "So then.everything happens as he foretold." she breathed. Then her eyes refocused on Harry; "Thank you.?" she trailed off, leaving him free to introduce himself.  
  
"Harry. Harry Potter," he answered.  
  
Rhiannon inhaled sharply, then regained her composition, "Thank you Mr. Potter."  
  
"Please, j-just Harry," he begged her, "Mr. Potter is too formal."  
  
She smiled, "I appreciate your familiarity, Harry." 


	3. Miracle Worker

((A/N: Hiya y'all. Wow this story is getting updated really quickly. Hehe it'll slow down after a while, sorry. Um.yeah.Review please, it makes my day when people tell me how much they love my story ^ ^ See ya and enjoy!))  
  
Harry shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets, //Why did she gasp when I said I was Harry Potter? I mean, okay, so I'm the Boy Who Lived, but people got used to it after a while.and she seemed kind of.off-balance.oh well-//  
  
"Harry?" Rhiannon's query interrupted Harry's thoughts. She looked slightly embarrassed, "I suppose you think this is a little stupid, but.could you show me around, once I'm able to get up again?"  
  
"What? Show you around? Oh, of course. When'll you be able to walk?"  
  
"I'm not sure, but.hopefully soon. Staying in this bed is getting a little boring." Rhiannon smiled at him and Harry blushed, looking down.  
  
"Yeah.I can imagine.I had a terrible incident with a Bludger match once." Harry winced but continued his story about how his terrible DADA professor, Professor Lockhart, had tried to heal his broken arm and ended up taking all the bone out. Rhiannon laughed out loud many times, which only made Harry try to make her laugh again. During the story, Harry realized how much he enjoyed hearing Rhiannon laugh; it brought him a peaceful feeling that he couldn't quite name, but he knew he liked it.  
  
They talked for a long time, exchanging funny stories and slowly letting each other into the other's world. Harry told Rhiannon about the Dursleys and she told him about the orphanage where she had lived for many years of her life until.Harry encouraged her to continue, but she shook her head, telling him it wasn't important.  
  
"Why not Rhiannon?" Harry queried, not understanding what she meant.  
  
"It's just.after that." she shrugged, "It's just not important. I got adopted and.here I am I guess," she finished.  
  
Harry sighed but didn't bring it up again. He told her about Dobby the house elf and all his funny quirks, and about the Hogwarts song, which made her laugh harder than ever, and she asked him all about the song, listening with avid interest,  
  
"So you can sing any song you want?" Rhiannon asked him in surprise.  
  
Harry nodded, "Any song. It's brilliant!"  
  
"I can see that," Rhiannon smiled, "It sounds fun.maybe I'll get to sing it too?"  
  
Harry grinned, "Maybe."  
  
They talked about everything they could possibly think of to discuss, but Rhiannon seemed slightly disconnected from the world, she'd never heard of some of the music Harry listened to, and this surprised him. Batty and the Salamanders ((A/N: hehe like the name? ^ ^)) were very popular; he'd thought everyone had heard of them. Obviously not.  
  
Several hours later, Madam Pomfrey passed by the curtained area, expecting quiet and the sound of a sleeping girl. Instead, she heard laughter and two excited voices. Madam Pomfrey smiled, //He really is a miracle-worker.I didn't expect that girl to even smile again.//  
  
((A/N: Wow, I think my story's getting better. Spiffy ^ ^)) 


	4. Tripping

((A/N: Hey y'all! I know all'y'all don't love me, but I love you, so here's another chapter. ^ ^ Just kidding. But it would be nice to get nice reviews. Or even criticism. Just don't make me cry, or I'll sic my evil plaster-munching bananas on you *glare*. Hehe anywayz here goes))  
  
Harry wandered back to the Gryffindor common room, practically glowing. Talking to Rhiannon made him feel like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he felt relaxed, even thinking of the double Potions class he had the next day-with Slytherin. //Ugh, and that idiot Malfoy will poke fun at everything I do again. Stupid prat// but even this thought couldn't ruin his mood. However, as he pushed aside the painting of the Fat Lady, his ears were assaulted by shouting, and he easily distinguished Ron and Hermione's voices.  
  
//They're at it again?// He thought in mild annoyance, //All they do is fight, and they love it// But they expected Harry to come stop them so they could glare at each other in silence, so Harry did what he was supposed to.  
  
"Hey, you two! Fighting again?" Harry yelled, making his way across the noisy common room.  
  
Hermione and Ron turned to Harry immediately, trying to explain to him what the other had done, each trying to be louder than the other.  
  
"Harry! Thank goodness! That idiot over there landed on me! He jumped right on top of me! I swear! I feel defiled." Hermione crossed her arms, muttered something about a stupid git, and shot a glare at Ron, who stuck his tongue out at her then turned to Harry, gesturing frantically as he explained,  
  
"Oh don't you wish Hermione" Ron taunted her then looked back at Harry, "I swear I didn't! I tripped! She just imagined that I jumped on her," Now it was Ron's turn to mutter about a bloody prat and glare at Hermione.  
  
"Calm down the both of you! Ron, stop tripping and watch where you're going," Hermione shot him a triumphant glance but Harry continued, "And 'Mione, you shouldn't make situations bigger than they are. There, problem's solved?" Both Ron and Hermione nodded, subdued now that they had nothing to argue about.  
  
"Oh, Harry, I had a question for you. I forgot it now, but I couldn't find you after class." Hermione looked at him inquisitively.  
  
"Yeah, where were you Harry?" Ron asked.  
  
"I was.um.I dunno. Not doing much of anything. Just walking." Harry lied quickly. Ron shrugged and went back to doing homework, but Hermione paused a moment and asked him quietly,  
  
"Is everything alright, Harry?"  
  
He nodded quickly, hating to have to lie to his best friends, "Yeah, I'm fine."  
  
Hermione looked at him one last time then nodded, "Alright. You can talk to me if you need to. Remember that, okay?"  
  
Harry nodded, and shot her a grateful smile for understanding, "Sure 'Mione, thanks." Hermione gave him a last smile and went to sit with Ron, pulling out a parchment to start her Transfiguration paper. Harry plopped into an armchair a little farther away from them to think; he'd finished his homework before going to see Rhiannon. 


	5. Training

((A/N: hey all'y'all! This next chapter is hopefully gonna be longer (your welcome A-TALL-TREE ^_^ And it's from Rhiannon's POV. Don't hurt me; it's not her fault!! So yeah. Oh yeah, and it's about a year prior to the rest of the story))  
  
I threw open the screen door to the house I shared with Lillith, or as she wanted me to call her, "Mum". The house frustrated me and made me claustrophobic, and the only respite I could glean was from the forest that surrounded Lillith's home. She always pestered me to call it home, but it just didn't feel right.  
  
"I'm going out Lillith," I called over my shoulder.  
  
"But-wait Rhiannon! I haven't finished speaking with you!" Lillith tried to call me back, but I ignored her and ran out. I ran until the stitch in my side toppled me and I landed on a pile of soft leaves. Lying there for a second, I closed my eyes and tried to regain my breath.  
  
//Stupid Lillith, always trying to hold me back; restrain me. She should know better by now, it's not like I even care to listen to her. All she does is lecture me; I've stopped hearing it anyways. What does she have to lecture me about? I'm a straight A student in school, and it's all easy. Sure, I don't have any friends, but what does she care? I should be lecturing her! She never does anything but stay at home and complain.// I sighed and stood again, glancing around, trying to see where I had run to.  
  
I had stopped in a small pocket in the middle of the tree-crowded forest. The ground was bare and obviously unhealthy, it was an odd color. The greenery stopped abruptly at the edge of the bare earth, and the remains anything that might have attempted to grow there were obvious on the ground, charred and very, very dead. I frowned, this was odd, I'd never come across this pocket, and I could have sworn that I'd explored every inch of this forest.  
  
Raising my eyes from the ground, I saw in front of me a huge boulder, which looked like it had grown from the barren earth. I moved forward curiously, placing my hand on the stone, inspecting its contours. Suddenly, a bright light shone from the stone, blinding me. Trying to pull my hand away, I discovered that it was impossible and instead put my other hand up over my face. After what seemed like forever, the light faded and I dropped to the ground, struggling to see. When my vision cleared from the spots, I looked up and stared.  
  
A tall, emaciated figure stood before me, cloaked in black, with narrow red eyes glowing at me from the hood. When he spoke, his voice sent shivers down my spine and I wanted to run and hide, yet at the same time, I wanted to lean forward, for his voice possessed an intense charisma to it that compelled me to listen,  
  
"Rhiannon Aerbaine. I have been watching you. It seemssss to me that you have great potential." the figure hissed.  
  
"P-potential, Great Lord?" I felt a sudden urge to bow to such an enigmatic force that had deigned to grace my presence.  
  
"Yesssss.potential for greatnesssss," the figure continued, seemingly pleased by the title.  
  
"Wha-what greatness, Lord?" I quavered, terrified yet engrossed nonetheless.  
  
"A greatnesss beyond reckoning.a greatnesss that will make all lisssten to you Rhiannon." Now it spread its arms, as if speaking to a fascinated crowd of people, "Greatnesss that will be your legacy."  
  
I leaned forward, wanting to hear more. All my life I had wanted to be known for something. As a young child, my most vivid memories were of being made fun of because of my eyes by the other orphanage children. One of my eyes was brown, and the other was blue. The children thought it was hilarious to think up songs to make fun of my mismatched eyes with. Since then, I had promised myself that I would make them see that I was worth something, despite my eyes.  
  
"You could even." he looked straight at me for a moment, and I felt as if he could see right down to the bottom of my soul, "even.change your eye color that you have sssso much."  
  
I stared. How did he-well supposing that it was a he anyway-know that? I had never told anyone about how much I hated my eyes. How could he find that out? Surely not.I thought about it for a moment then dismissed the thought of mind-reading. It was impossible, right?  
  
"My Lord.how would I do this?" I inquired, curious.  
  
"Have you not heard of magic?" he asked, his voice sounding almost incredulous.  
  
"No Lord.I-I have not.forgive me," I felt as if I had done something terrible and deserved to be punished.  
  
"Well.you have much to learn.but I can teach you all you need to know, to fulfill your purposssse."  
  
"P-purpose, my Lord?" I blinked, confused. What purpose could he possibly have for me?  
  
"Yess.an ultimate purpossse. Do you wish to pleassse me?"  
  
"Yess-er yes Master, how can I do this?"  
  
"I will teach you magic, and you will go to Hogwartsss Ssschool and find a boy named Harry Potter. You will be hisss friend.and then kill him. Do you underssstand?"  
  
"Yes Master, I understand," I was eager to begin learning, it sounded fascinating, as it must have been, since this was my master telling me. And everything he said was obviously true.  
  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-*-  
  
After that, every day after school, I went to the boulder and learned magic from my master. He taught me both charms, hexes, good and bad spells, saying that I would need to know as much, if not more, than the students at Hogwarts. He told me about the school, all about how horrible the headmaster was, what idiots the students were, and how pointless the school was. Learning from him was difficult, when I got something wrong, he hurt me, and his insults and spells were branded into my mind forever, but always he brought me back with that say charisma. And slowly, so I thought, I learned what I needed to learn.  
  
I learned to hate Albus Dumbledore, hate him, and fear him. I learned how to defeat Harry Potter, how he was weak with his friends, keeping them closer than his enemies. I learned how to be strong when questioned, and lie without batting an eyelash. I learned everything that my master deemed I should know. And I learned it well.  
  
Some weeks later, he gave me a name to call him by, and it was eternally burned into my memory like a scar. Voldemort.  
  
((A/N: Wow correct me if I'm wrong, but I really like this chapter ^ ^. Review all'y'all!)) 


	6. Eloquence and Breakfast

((A/N: Wow I'm so proud that you guys like this! Thank you! ^ ^ Keep reviewing, it makes me happy. And you know what they say about happy authors? They write good chapters! (Well I suppose they don't say that but.well.you know. Anything for the reviews! ^ ^;;)))  
  
The days fell into a pattern, in which Harry would go through his classes, distracted, until he went to visit Rhiannon. During his visits, Harry always felt accepted, not because he was the Boy Who Lived, but because of who he really was behind the hero front he put up to hide the insecurities any fifteen-year-old boy should have. He enjoyed his time with Rhiannon, replaying the conversations in his head as he lay in bed at night.  
  
One Wednesday afternoon, Harry entered the hospital wing to find Rhiannon on her feet, leaning heavily on the railing on the side of her bed.  
  
"Rhiannon! You're-" Harry stopped and ran over. "Are you allowed to be up?" he continued in a quieter voice.  
  
Rhiannon nodded and took a slow step forward. She stood for a moment then wobbled and fell. Harry's reflexes kicked in and he caught her neatly, before she could fall very far or get hurt. Harry blushed slightly and mumbled something that sounded stupid even to his ears, and quickly stood Rhiannon up. Rhiannon smiled faintly and thanked him, still leaning on his arm.  
  
"You okay?" Harry queried worriedly, "Are you positive you don't want to wait a little longer before you try to walk?"  
  
"Don't worry Harry, I'm fine. I just need a moment to rest, then will you help me again?"  
  
Harry shrugged and waited as Rhiannon seemed to gather her strength again. She took a halting step forward, and Harry moved with her. Another, and another, Harry supported Rhiannon as she gradually made her way across the partitioned area.  
  
They stopped at the edge of the curtain and Harry exclaimed, "Great! Next thing you know, you'll be able to walk around Hogwarts too!"  
  
Rhiannon smiled at him and murmured a quiet thanks. Harry felt himself turn red at her smile, and he ducked his head with a shrug. They walked falteringly back to the bed and Rhiannon sat again, "Madame Pomfrey says I should be able to walk around easily in about three days. Will you show me around then?" Rhiannon asked and Harry nodded,  
  
"I'll see you then," Harry stood and left, waving at Rhiannon as he pulled the curtain closed behind himself.  
  
* * * *  
  
Three days passed quickly as Harry rushed through his classes in a childish eagerness for Saturday to come. The morning of the awaited day dawned bright and clear, Harry noted absentmindedly, as he got dressed and walked down to the Common Room and out of Gryffindor Tower. At eight in the morning, the minority of the students were awake, and the few who were were all heading to the Dining Hall for breakfast, so it was easy enough for Harry to slip past his sleepy-eyed fellow wizards and make it to the hospital wing. Inside, Madame Pomfrey made him wait while she went to help Rhiannon get up and get dressed. Harry perched on a chair and waited, until the mediwitch emerged again, with Rhiannon in tow.  
  
It made Harry stare, to see the girl dressed in regular clothes, with her hair pulled back. She looked.beautiful. Rhiannon seemed to notice him staring at her and raised an inquiring eyebrow, so he quickly looked away as he stood,  
  
"Ready?"  
  
Rhiannon nodded, "Yup."  
  
"Hungry?"  
  
She grinned, "Starving."  
  
Harry smiled back, "Great, let's go." Thanking Madame Pomfrey on their way out, the two youths left the hospital wing. Outside, Rhiannon stopped and stared around her, almost as if she was trying to memorize everything she saw. Harry was glad to see that she seemed to like Hogwarts, and he led her on a tour as they made their way to the Dining Hall to join the other students who were awake.  
  
As they passed the other tables, a quiet buzz of questions followed in their wake; none of the witches or wizards had seen Rhiannon around and they wondered who she was. Rhiannon herself seemed a little taken aback at the number of students who attended Hogwarts, and she hid behind Harry just a little as they found seats at the Gryffindor table.  
  
Some Gryffindors greeted Harry with welcoming shouts and puzzled expressions, but the only one bold enough to actually ask Harry was Seamus, who elbowed him and waggled his eyebrows, "Who's the lovely lady, Harry?" Harry glared, Rhiannon flushed, and Seamus grinned, "Oho! What's this Harry? Out with it, eh?"  
  
Harry sighed, "This is my friend-" he was interrupted by gasps from his friends, "-Yes my friend. Her name's Rhiannon."  
  
Dean joined in, "Rhiannon? Pretty name. Hey listen, if you haven't claimed her, Harry, can I take her out?"  
  
Harry glared at Dean, "Why don't you ask her yourself?"  
  
Dean bowed, "I think I will," he turned to Rhiannon then. "Ms. Rhiannon, seeing as Harry hasn't claimed you, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a date?"  
  
Harry laughed, "Didn't know you could be so eloquent Dean."  
  
Dean shrugged and smirked, "It's one of those talents you wouldn't understand, Harry dear."  
  
Harry laughed again and swatted Dean, who dodged then popped right back up, looking at Rhiannon expectantly.  
  
Rhiannon looked away and bit her lip, thinking. Finally, she looked up and her eyes danced, although she kept a straight face, "Sorry Dean, I only go on dates with the ineloquent."  
  
Dean slapped his chest with a mock-wounded expression; "Ah the lady strikes!" he recovered with a grin, "Ah well. I have some studying to do, see you two later!" With a wave, Dean absconded ((A/N: heehee funky word, ne?)), leaving Harry and Rhiannon sitting together, surrounded by chattering students.  
  
Harry smiled ruefully, "Sorry 'bout him Rhiannon."  
  
"Don't worry about it. He's funny," Rhiannon assured him, and they turned to their food.  
  
((A/N: It is 1:16 AM as I finish this chapter *dies* Hehe good times. Well I hope you like it. More will be forthcoming. Amazing how articulate I get at one in the morning ^_^;; Well, review and you'll get more sooner! Ja ne!)) 


	7. Libraries

((A/N: Hi all. I think I'm gonna do this chapter from Rhiannon's perspective, due to requests for her thoughts. And since you can't hear her thoughts when it's Harry's POV, I'll have to switch it. So yes. Rhiannon's POV *gets in Rhiannon mood* Okay! Ready! *muses hide* Ha! You call yourselves muses! Bah! ^ ^;;;;; Okay anyways. Oh yes! Review! It makes my day! Okay now you can read.))  
  
After breakfast, Harry helped me up and we left the Hall. I had to stop outside the great double doors to catch my breath, and Harry waited for me patiently. Taking the chance, I looked around me at the Entrance Hall with curiosity. It was huge, with a high-vaulted ceiling and large stained-glass windows through which the bright morning light shone in, showing the trailing paths of dust motes up high above us. Old suits of armor lined the walls at intervals; their long halberds gleamed dully with a faded quality that hinted of a lustrous shine many years before. The huge double doors at the end of the hall towered above us, ancient and inlaid with many marks, some sigils and runes that, to my eyes, seemed to flicker slightly when I looked at them from my peripheral vision. The other markings were carved initials and little hearts, drawn near the bottom hinges.  
  
I realized that I'd been taking a little too long and straightened, flashing a smile at Harry. He grinned back and we left the large Entrance Hall, slipping outside into the bright sunlight. I squinted slightly and we moved toward the lake. Several other students were scattered around the water's edge, sitting on blankets and reading, talking, or playing games. Harry led me to a group playing the latter and we sat down with them. After quick introductions and inquisitive glances, the other students returned to the game, bantering and exchanging tips as they moved the pieces around the board. I watched from the side, taking note of the strategies each player used, and observed the players' faces, noticing little nuances in their expressions that aided me in guessing their next moves. Most of the time, I was right.  
  
After a while, I sensed someone watching me intently. I turned my head slightly to the right and slid my eyes in that direction, trying to find the person without obviously doing so. As I'd suspected, it was Harry. His keen green ((A/N: hey I rhyme!)) eyes were fixed on my face, the large black wire-rimmed glasses softened their gaze, but I could tell that he was studying me as carefully as I'd studied the other students just moments before. The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I felt distinctly uncomfortable, shifting uneasily. He seemed to notice my discomfort and he smiled at me sweetly. The innocence in his gaze was almost shocking; he didn't seem to suspect anything about me. But then again, I had been trained to utter subtlety, and, according to my Master, Harry Potter was not the brightest crayon in the box. In my rebellious way, I was starting to suspect that my Master had lied, and that Harry wasn't as guileless as he appeared. And yet, in my worshipful manner in regard to same Master, I believed that this deceit on Voldemort's part was only another test.  
  
So, I simply smiled back and turned my attention back to the game. One boy, named Colin Creevey, was losing painfully, and I smirked slightly, to see his disappointment ((A/N: Goodness, she's terrible! No just kidding! Don't hate her!)). But the girl.her name was Hermione, Harry had said. She was pretty in a slightly more subtle way, with long brown hair, that was (although thick) very shiny and smooth, and large brown eyes. Those eyes, they were obviously intelligent, and it surprised me. This was one who might find me out, if I wasn't careful; and the way she talked to Harry, she was obviously a good friend of his, and cared about him quite a lot. I filed all this away in my mind for future reference, and observed some more.  
  
* * * *  
  
Later in the day, Harry showed me around the rest of the grounds. He was only greeted by members of three Houses, I noticed, but not the fourth. Their colors, green and silver, reminded me of my Master, and I saw the hatred glimmering in their eyes as Harry passed. I asked about the four Houses and Harry told me about the Founders of Hogwarts and Gryffindor (he said the name with a certain pride that told me that he belonged to that House), Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The last name was almost spat out like a curse, and I decided that it was the Slytherins who hated Harry. From what I heard of both Houses, there was a rivalry between the two, and both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tended to support Gryffindor. The fact that there was such a level of complexity to the school was surprising to me; my Master had spoken of the place as if it was a place for simpletons and evil. Now, it seemed, I was seeing otherwise.  
  
As we entered the library, I couldn't hide the smile that I felt spread across my face. Glancing at me, Harry grinned back, "You like it?"  
  
I laughed quietly, "I love it. There are so many books." I turned in a slow circle, inhaling the smell of old and new books. This was where I belonged, among lofty piles of tomes, reading, organizing, and cataloguing. I'd always loved the libraries in the non-magical part of England, but this was different. In a small, removed corner, there was a sign that read, 'Muggle Books'. From what I'd heard the other students discussing, Muggle meant non- magical person. I recognized some books in that section, but my attention was soon drawn to the rest of the huge annals. The (gargantuan) remainder of the library was full of magical books. They were divided into sections, like Divination, Transfiguration, Charms, Wizarding History, Potions, Defense Against The Dark Arts and the like.  
  
The latter section drew my attention; from the few magical books I'd read, it seemed to me that I'd been learning quite a few advanced Dark Arts spells. It surprised me that there was no Dark Arts section, but then I remembered what my Master had told me: The wizardssss at Hogwartsss are weak; they do not ussse many of the ssspellss I have taught you. They think them evil and only teach againsssst them. You musst ussse thisss againsst them. I understood then, that the wizards here must truly be weak, as my Master had told me, for otherwise why not use the spells they called Dark? They were useful spells with many applications, and, although it required a great amount of power to use them, the result was always rewarding. The only ones I disliked were the three my Master had called the Ultimate Curses, Cruciatus, Imperius, and Avada Kedavra. He'd used the former two on me, and taught me to fight them off, and the latter I'd been instructed to practice on little creatures. It always hurt me to use it, and I usually ended up crying, but I was obedient, as I'd learned to be of necessity.  
  
Pulling my mind back to the present, I realized that Harry had been speaking, "...the library's one of the oldest parts of Hogwarts, and it's Hermione's favorite place to be. You met her, outside, remember?" he waited for me to nod and then continued, "You'd get along well with her I think, both of you brainiacs." I was about to retort angrily, but realized he was joking when I saw the laughter dancing in his eyes.  
  
I couldn't help but grin back, "It's...amazing. Wow. I love it!"  
  
"I'm glad you like it," he seemed pleased, just because I liked it. I sent him a startled glance; no one had ever done something for me merely to see me happy, it was an odd feeling. I decided I liked it. 


	8. A Meeting With Dumbledore

((A/N: Hi all! I'm back with more. Mwahahahaha *cough* haha *cough* haha *hack* *die* No just kidding! Yes. Harry's POV again. Tell me which you like better, Harry's or Rhiannon's, k? Yes. Thanks for reviewing all!))((Oh yes! I figured out how to make ellipses work! Go me! It's a hassle but ah well.))  
  
Harry stood outside Dumbledore's office nervously. Inside, he could hear Professor McGonagall and the headmaster discussing something. Professor McGonagall responded to whatever Professor Dumbledore said in heated tones, and Harry thought he could almost hear Rhiannon's name mentioned, but then dismissed it a moment later as a figment of his imagination. He settled back in the chair he'd claimed and tried to relax and think back on the last few days to see if he could figure out why he'd been called to Dumbledore's office. All he'd done was go to class and see Rhiannon...maybe that was it? But all he'd done was show her around. And Madame Pomfrey hadn't minded.  
  
After a few minutes, Professor McGonagall opened the door to the headmaster's office, "Mr. Potter, the headmaster will see you now."  
  
Harry stood and nodded, "Thanks Professor." He walked past her into the office and expected her to close the door and leave. Instead, she closed the door and sat down in the office. Dumbledore motioned for Harry to take a seat as well, and he complied, still puzzled.  
  
"Harry, thank you for coming. Minerva has brought to my attention that you have spent much of your time in the company of the girl, Rhiannon," Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, steepling ((A/N: You stoopid spell- checker! Steepling is too a word!)) his fingers and looking at Harry over the rims of his glasses.  
  
"Er...yes Professor. Is that bad?" So he'd been right, it was about Rhiannon!  
  
"No, not exactly Harry. But..." Dumbledore paused, watching Harry carefully, "Minerva is worried about you Harry. You haven't spent any time with Hermione and Ron. Did you have a fight? Is everything alright?"  
  
Harry, who had been staring at his feet, suddenly looked up, startled, "No, Professor! Nothings wrong. I just...wanted to make her feel welcome is all," Harry answered sincerely. "Is that bad, Professor?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled benignly at him, "No, of course not. But..." Dumbledore searched for the right words, and then continued delicately, "Perhaps it would be wise to spend some time with your old friends? They may miss you, you know."  
  
Harry frowned, "Did they say something to you, Professor? I...I didn't mean to ignore them!"  
  
The headmaster hid a smile at the boy's distress. Harry was still a sweet boy, under the hero mask, but it was hard to see. Harry was the boy that everyone trusted implicitly, and he took it hard, always trying to be what everyone wanted him to be. It took a toll on him-Dumbledore could see the smudges under his eyes-but he hid it well. Although he regretted having to send Harry to the Dursleys, the headmaster knew it was a necessary step in the boy's protection. And he'd never stopped regretting it; but that was the way things went. His task while Harry was at school was to bring out the sweetness, to show Harry that not everyone expected him to play the hero.  
  
Minerva had put it nicely, at the last staff meeting, after most of the teachers had left. "Harry has a hero complex, forced on him by the entire wizarding world. The poor boy works himself ragged trying to be who they all see him as. It's hard for him, Albus, can't we do something to help him?" Unfortunately, they were doing all they could, and it didn't seem to be enough. Dumbledore looked at the boy in front of him fondly, and realized anew how much the boy looked like James. The eyes were different, Lily had given him those; but the hair, the stubborn set of his face, the open, honest features, they were entirely James.  
  
Harry looked at Dumbledore, perplexed. The headmaster had been watching him with a strange smile, and it was a little odd. "Professor?"  
  
Dumbledore blinked and smiled again, "My apologies, Harry. I was just...reminiscing. Well." The headmaster leaned back in his chair again, "I'm glad we had this chat. Thank you Harry."  
  
Harry stood, "Thank you Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall. I'll try to keep what you said in mind." With a last smile, Harry turned and left.  
  
Professor McGonagall settled back in her chair, looking at Dumbledore curiously, "Well Albus, what do you think? Out with it! How is he?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled calmly, "Patience, Minerva, is a virtue-"  
  
"And time is precious, Albus! Is he alright?" The Transfiguration teacher pressed.  
  
"The boy is fine, Minerva. A little in love, if I read him correctly, which I believe I did. But otherwise fine. What did you think?"  
  
Professor McGonagall thought for a moment, reviewing the conversation, "I think...I think he is troubled by something, but it's nothing new. He's a sweet boy, Harry, but there's so much pressure on him to do what's right! It must be so difficult for him. But he has Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley and they have always been there for him. I suppose he is in love; quite amusing, isn't it Albus?" She smiled then, "But on the whole, I suppose he's dealing quite well."  
  
"I'm glad you're pleased with our examination, Minerva. I hope we brought Rhiannon here for the right reasons."  
  
((A/N: So there ya go. This was mainly about Harry, I suppose. I wanted to write about something a little different. Yes. Well.I was gonna say-oh yes! I guess I put a lot of emphasis on how hard it is for Harry being a hero ^ ^ If it bugs you, gomen. But that's just what I think. Yes. Well bye!)) 


	9. Pondering History

((A/N: Oi all! I am so so so so sorry for not updating in forever! Busy- ness + Writer's block = No chapter. ;_; But now I'm back! W00t. And I have another wunnyderful chapter for y'all from Rhiannon's POV. Hopefully, it'll explain a few things that A-Tall-Tree asked me to clear up. So here you are))  
  
I sat in the library by myself the evening after my first visit to the library. This time, I was alone, Hermione having finally convinced her study-disinclined friends (see: Harry and Ron) to study for the many tests the students were plied with. I had found a distant corner of the library with a comfortable armchair and enough light to read by, and I was happy. Just a few minutes prior, I had found a terribly interesting book on the history of the Dark Arts. I was reading it to check over the author's facts, and so far, it seemed pretty accurate.  
  
Around me, but at a polite distance, other Hogwarts students went about their business, studying, talking quietly (thanks to Madam Pince's watchful eyes), or reading. None of them even thought to go near me, I was an oddity that they preferred to inspect from a distance. I was not something to be worried about, or avoided, like some of the more troublesome students, since I was obviously favored by Harry Potter. But I was too detached from their every-day lives to be befriended; they were all convinced we had nothing in common. I supposed my first impression might have had something to do with that-most of the students had seen me being carried to the hospital wing, or that's what I remembered, being only slightly conscious at the time. Considering the way I'd looked patched up, I must have been a sight at the beginning. But now, the scars on my arms, legs, and back were healing, and yet no one would approach me. I must admit, even during my times of isolation when I'd lived in foster homes, I had never felt this lonely. To be around so many witches and wizards, like myself, and to have none of them want anything to do with me; it hurt. All except Harry Potter, of course.  
  
I had hoped to be friends with Harry's almost-constant companions, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. But, after taking one look at me and then at Harry, Ron had set his jaw and stubbornly refused to give me another glance. Hermione had tried to be friendly, but the three of them were obviously very close and had a penchant for finishing each other's sentences, and she soon gave up on me when she realized that I didn't really belong with them. Harry seemed quit oblivious to his friends' dislike for me-both covert and overt, and he was perfectly content to spend time with either faction.  
  
As I pondered their friendship, and the obvious strength the ties gave Harry, I began to compare it to my life before Hogwarts and Voldemort.  
  
I had gone through too many foster homes to count. Many of the first had been rich couples with too much money and too few children to spend it on. I hadn't been.spoiled, exactly-I stayed for too short a time for that-but I had been treated well. It soon was discovered, however, that despite my faerie-like appearance that was so endearing, I was quite different from other children. It began simply, with little things, like preferring to be alone. I taught myself to read before I could even speak, and would spend hours alone in the huge libraries of my foster parents, poring over huge tomes that I somehow managed to drag to the floor. My guardians, worried by my unnatural behaviour, had tried to invite over other rich little children for me to associate with, but I would always hide behind my mother's skirts and then, as soon as the adults went off to talk alone, I would scamper off to the library to continue reading some book or other.  
  
Eventually, each home decided I was too much to handle for them, inexperienced parents as they were, and I would be shipped off to another foster home. After a few years like this, by the time I was about eight, I had developed a sort of reputation for being odd. The other children at the orphanage that I always returned to had decided that I was too weird for them, and they left me alone when they went outside to play games, or to discuss other childish matters. For that was what I considered them and their feelings-something to immature for me to dabble in. Even as a young child, I always had opinions about things I shouldn't have known about. My reading had expanded my knowledge of the world immensely, and I would creep up to the closed kitchen door in the evenings when the caretakers would listen to the one old radio in there and discuss the things they heard. In this way, I became a rather opinionated girl, and I never hesitated to speak my mind. For a few years at least. As I was a quick learner, I soon discerned that adults didn't want to hear what I thought. They would look at me from their towering heights and down their long noses and smile indulgently, commenting about how sweet I was to think I had any idea what I was talking about.  
  
It annoyed me that no one would listen, but after I while I shut my trap and kept to myself more and more. The years passed, and I began to count important events by the foster homes I ended up in. When I was about twelve, I was adopted by a single man who claimed to want someone to help him out around the house. This "helping" was not quite what the orphanage workers had expected, and I ran away after a few days, winding up at the orphanage once again, but a few orders of magnitude more reclusive and scarred than before. For several months afterward, I harbored a horrible phobia of all single men, and even the nice men who worked at the orphanage were unable to get near me before I would start crying and promising to be good. The women took pity on me and were gentle with me, fending off the other children who came to mock me for the scars I'd received on my arms and slowly developing chest.  
  
About two years after that incident, another sexually abusive family adopted me; only this time it was a couple. They returned me, bruised and broken, to the orphanage after about two weeks, claiming I was too weak for the kind of work they needed from me. After that unpleasant occurrence, I tried to be strong, and put up a brave front, not letting anyone behind the walls I built up around myself. I even managed to convince myself that the walls were for my protection, even though I only ended up distancing myself irrevocably from the people who wanted to help me. I resorted to writing morose and depressed poetry, as teenagers were wont to do, and the orphanage workers put it down to hormones.  
  
For that was what had happened to me. Over the space of two years, my childhood had stealthily been robbed away from me, replaced by painstaking womanhood. Although I was not, by a long shot, anything like the girls in the magazines the older girls read, I was pretty in my own way. I was always skinny, a little past the border of anorexic looking, although I ate as much as I could-but the orphanage was a little low on funds. The breasts I had were sorely lacking, a fact I never forgot to complain about to myself, berating myself for burdens that were in no way my fault. Other changes happened and I made the slow journey to becoming a woman.  
  
Around my fifteenth birthday, I was adopted by Lillith, a single woman who lived far from any major "congestion of traffic", as she liked to call them, or urban areas. She was nice enough, and immediately tried to make me welcome. Although she was by no means wealthy, she had funds enough to take care of herself, and she took care of me as well. I was unused to her kind of doting attention, and for the first few months I kept wondering when the catch would show up, but none did. She seemed perfectly content to take care of me in a slightly distant way, and write her books in her home on the border of a forest. It was comforting, after I got used to it, to hear her clacking away at her computer at all hours, and I particularly enjoyed her welcoming my input. After she discovered, to her immense joy, that I shared her love of reading, she put me to the task of editing her writing and giving her my opinion. Although she wasn't a very talented writer, she put her heart into it, and it showed in her writing, and the way her stories flowed.  
  
We sometimes got in fights, but they were quickly resolved most of the time, and we continued on with our lives. I tolerated her friendliness and tried to return it, but I found it difficult to unfreeze my heart after the time I'd put it in a cryogenic sleep, so to speak, after the unfortunate events of my childhood.  
  
Of my biological parents, I remembered little, but something about Lillith always reminded me of the way I felt in the dreams I had about my parents. The blurry, faded images of two people who were very much in love always gave me a warm feeling at the pit of my stomach, and Lillith gave me that kind of feeling. The dreams I had of them were often disjointed and too often, I woke up to quickly to remember anything tangible. But I always remembered the long, beautiful shining locks of black hair and pale skin that I had apparently inherited from my mother, and the bright blue eyes from my father. And somewhat else, a tune, sung in a sweet, clear soprano voice; a lullaby, it seemed, for I always heard it on the border between the waking world and the calm, yet disorganized world of my dreams. And somehow, I knew it was my mother that had sung those notes, sung them to me when I was so young I could hardly remember.  
  
I kept those sparse memories with me always, locking away whatever I could in my heart, so that, in the dark hours before morning, when I sometimes awoke from terrible nightmares in which I revisited the horrors I'd experienced at the hands of my past foster homes, I could reopen the memories like a treasured locket and remember those who had loved me before I was of any worth; who had loved me because I was theirs.  
  
About a year after Lillith adopted me, I noticed a rift growing between us. She grew irritated with my frequent silences, and I grew annoyed by her constant chattering, for I was used to silence. We fought more and more, and the arguments almost always ended with my storming out of the house in a fury, to go sulk in the trees. It was during these fractious times that I learned to climb trees, and recognize many of the flora and fauna that populated the forest. I often spent days alone, wandering the large woods, learning by trial-and-error what I could eat, and what I couldn't. If I got dangerously sick, I always managed to drag myself back to Lillith's house where she would patch me up, all arguments forgotten in her worry over my well-being. And then, as my stubborn nature was wont, I went out again for a few more days. Eventually, I knew every inch of the forest, and I stayed out for almost a week at a time, fending for myself, and the animals grew accustomed to my presence. I could even get birds to land on my hand sometimes, or pet the shy deer that usually bound away at the first scent of danger.  
  
Then I met my Master, and everything changed. I grew sullen and more withdrawn than I'd been in months. I refused to tell Lillith about what I'd done in the forest and she grew worried about me, but I was sixteen, although newly so, and she reckoned that I was old enough to take care of myself. So I trained with Voldemort and I eventually accepted the fact that I really was abnormal, it wasn't just a bunch of orphan children's ostracism of someone with slightly more ascetic tendencies. But my Master seemed pleased by my idiosyncrasy, and I was quite content to please him that way, and by learning everything avidly that he had to teach me.  
  
After a few months of training, I came to one of my secret meetings with Voldemort and he told me of his new plan, and what part I was to play in it. He told me about Hogwarts School, and about how it tried to corrupt young witches and wizards into believing that my Master was evil-needless to say, I was shocked. Although I had been put under two Unforgivable curses (I learned this term much later) myself, I still had every reason to believe that I was useful to my Master and that he was doing what was best for the world-and fighting against him when they left the school.  
  
Voldemort told me about the Headmaster, a Professor Dumbledore, with considerable and formidable power. This Dumbledore was a bumbling old fool with too much power in his hands, and he was in charge of the movement against my Master. His front piece was a boy named Harry Potter, who, due to an insane amount of luck, had almost defeated my Master in a battle of wills several times over. This Harry Potter was not only an obnoxious, powerless boy, but also, incidentally, the person I was to befriend. Voldemort described his strategy to me; I was to make friends with Potter and behave like an innocent girl, but when the time came and my Master gave the signal, I would lure him away from the considerable safety of Hogwarts ground, and out into a space where Voldemort could kill him and be rid of him. Dumbledore was sure to come out to try to save Potter, and Voldemort would finish him off as well, at which time, the defenses around Hogwarts would ostensibly fail and my Master's fleet of loyal Death Eaters would descend upon the school, rooting out those loyal to Voldemort and cull the rest.  
  
I had grinned in anticipation of the plan. My part was obviously important, for I was the bait for the famous Harry Potter, and I would be the one to laugh as he died, for he was the keystone of my Master's plans. Excited as I was to get to Hogwarts, a small part of me, that I tried to squash, told me that what I was doing was wrong, and that I should feel guilty. But I told myself that my Master was the important one, and I was doing this for him, so he would be pleased with me. And yet my conscience persisted to bother me, popping up at inopportune times, like when I sat on a swing in the backyard of Lillith's house and pondered the plan ahead of me.  
  
My conscience would tell me that murder in cold blood was a horrible crime, and ask me what I would do with myself afterwards. As it was a question I couldn't answer, I pushed it to the back of my mind, but other questions full of doubt and guilt would fill its place. What if Potter wasn't as bad as Voldemort told me he was? What if I really ended up being friends with my quarry? What if I failed at the crucial moment? And even if everything worked according to plan, what would happen with Dumbledore? According to Voldemort, even though the old wizard was senile, he had a tremendous amount of magic at his control, and as I thought about it, I wasn't completely sure my Master could defeat him.but I pushed these thoughts out of my mind and tried to imagine what Hogwarts would be like.  
  
And soon enough, the day of the plan rolled around. That morning, I told Lillith that I would be gone for a while, having "discovered a new place to explore" and I informed her that I expected to be gone for a month at least. If longer, I told her not to worry, for I was probably settled happily with my own colony of birds to do my evil bidding. She laughed and gave me permission-not that I needed it, and we both knew it-and I left, heading immediately for the clearing where I met Voldemort each time. He was there waiting for me and we went over the plan one more time, and then he handed me a Portkey that would take me to the fringes of the Forbidden Forest.  
  
I felt a lurching feeling and something hooked itself around my bellybutton and I was whisked away. I opened my eyes again to find myself lying on the ground at the edge of an unfamiliar forest. As I stood, the foreboding feelings I got from it were enough to make me shiver, but I gritted my teeth and strode into the forest. Using all the skills I'd carefully acquired over the past year, I found my way through most of the woods. Suddenly, I became aware of something watching me. Whirling, I looked behind me in vain; there was nothing I could see, even with my unnaturally sharp eyes. I shivered and turned around, walking a few more steps before I heard something behind me. This time I was sure there was something there, but I tried to keep walking.  
  
Again, I heard it, a light clopping of hooves maybe a few feet behind me. I whirled again, to be confronted with one of the most terrifying things I'd ever seen. Towering above me was what I'd learned from my Master to be a centaur. A good seven or eight feet tall, the half man half horse stomped it's hooves and looked down at me in mild curiosity and a bit of annoyance. I froze, petrified, as it asked me repeatedly who I was and what I was doing in the Forbidden Forest. When I didn't answer, it seemed to grow very angry, and glowered down at me, warning me.  
  
After watching me, it seemed to decided that I was an intruder. With a sharp, echoing whistle, it began advancing on me. With each of its forward steps, I took a step backward, but it seemed to always be gaining on me. Finally it stood right in front of me, fists clenched, and I heard more hooves around me. Turning in a frantic circle, I discovered to my horror that while I had been terrified by the one centaur, at least five others had come from other directions and surrounded me. They all had the same angry expression on their faces, and I supposed that the fact that I was intruder had been passed on, and they were here to kill me.  
  
They came at me with hooves, pounding me in turn, and keeping me from escaping by keeping me always within the circle. I tried to dodge as much as I could, but they were horribly accurate with their hooves and I heard at least one snap as my arm broke. I could feel blood flowing freely down my face as I looked around between blows, desperately trying to find a way out. Finally, I found an opening and dashed out, using all the speed I could muster, clutching my arm to my chest. The centaurs made to follow me, and I put on another burst of speed, finally making it out of the Forest. I fell to the ground, unable to go any further, convinced that the centaurs would be upon me in a second, to squash me into the ground. But instead of the terribly death I expected, I heard them cursing at the edge of the forest. I looked up slowly, struggling to see through my quickly blackening vision, and saw that the six centaurs were standing at the edge of the Forest, looking very angry, although it looked to me like they couldn't pass the edge.  
  
I tried to stand, and finally managed to do so with great difficulty. Looking around my surroundings, I saw that I had emerged from the forest right near what appeared to be a huge castle. I recognized it to be Hogwarts, just barely, and stumbled forward, landing on the steps leading up to the great doors. The steps were rough and painful on my knees as I struggled up them. I'd never realized that it was possible to have so many steps in one place, but finally I made it to the top and just barely managed to hit the door weakly with my fist before I blacked out.  
  
The next thing I could remember, I was in the hospital wing with my arm in a sling and my leg in an enormous amount of pain, though the blood and dirt seemed to have been thoroughly scrubbed off my body. When I opened my eyes to assess the damage done, I noticed that someone was in the curtained-off area.  
  
And after that point, I could remember everything quite clearly, I mused as I sat in the comfortable armchair in the secluded corner of the library. And now, I had to separate Harry from Ron and Hermione, and when the time came, I would need an excuse to get him out of Hogwarts. But that wasn't something to worry about now, I decided, as I got to my feet and walked back to the infirmary. Voldemort would make sure everything happened exactly as it should. Of that I was certain. 


End file.
